


This Isn't Even My Final Form

by Hi Pot And News (MaidenThailand)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU if you didn't realize it, Body Modification, F/M, Fluffiness, Genderbending, Potions Accident, dating-sim-esque, lol. Why doesn't FF.net do tagging?, maybe reverse harem, shoujo-ness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:11:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4098922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaidenThailand/pseuds/Hi%20Pot%20And%20News
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was an accident! A tumble with an unknown potion grants Harry consequences no one could have expected. Dealing as well as she can, Harry reacquaints herself with the person behind the image of the Boy Who Lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**I** f there was one thing Harry Potter could do, it was keep people from knowing what was going on in that stubborn head. Holding one’s cards closely to one’s chest was something one had to learn if they were to survive the upbringing Harry did. Pulling details out of Harry was as difficult as ice-skating on hoarfrost; technically possible if you built up a large enough foundation to rely on, but ultimately what you got was no where near enough to really do anything with. This was the reason the two people that could claim they really knew Harry were often still out of the loop when Harry decided on something.

 

Predict the ways of Harry Potter? One might as well try to hold a moonbeam in their hands.

 

Even Harry didn’t always know what Harry would do next! That was probably why the young Dark Lord vanquisher was wandering through a seedier part of the Alleys that had been more or less forbidden.

 

Harry had been set up with a room at the Leaky Cauldron after meeting with the Minister. Fudge had been too relieved to find the national hero alive and well to scold for running off and set Harry up with basically an all-expenses paid vacation for inflating Aunt Marge the size of a hot-air balloon. (Mind you, she had already been half-way there on her own.) After a warning to stay in Diagon proper, Harry was left to do whatever it was nearly-teenaged children did in their free time; in Harry’s case, it was wander about.

 

Diagon Alley became less exciting after the fifth time Harry ambled through it. That was not to say that it was dull, it was just the fact that Harry had been warned not to leave it, and anyone in the know could tell you that telling Harry not to do something was basically guiding the child by the hand directly into doing so. After a week and a half of being good, Harry was ready to stray. Fortunately or unfortunately, a shop sign glinted in the afternoon light and caught said child’s attention

 

The shop in question was placed in what basically amounted to a side-road off of Diagon proper. It was at the intersection where Knocturn connected to Diagon, and if it hadn’t been an unusually sunny day that day Harry would have missed it altogether. The entrance to the side alley was the width of doorway though it was tall enough that Hagrid could have squeeze through if he turned on his side.

 

Harry pondered the side alley, wondering if it was anything like Knocturn. Harry was still leery of the place after the mishap with the Floo the year before and wasn’t sure if soothing curiosity would be worth the potential of running into more crazies. Turning to look at the relaxed atmosphere of Diagon before the school rush, Harry double-took as a man with antlers came out from the shop that had caught Harry’s attention. Mouth falling open at the sight, Harry was walking through the entrance way before realizing it.

 

The antlered man didn’t notice Harry at all and continued on his way down the side alley. Harry watched him go before glancing up at the shop sign (Margaux’s Metamorphosis, the letters shifting through different fonts) and peering through the tinted window. The interior looked as if an antique shop was dressing up as a greenhouse for Halloween. Fascinated by the idea of having antlers, Harry pushed open the door and walked inside curiously, a bell tinkling at the opening of the door.

 

The layout of the shop reminded Harry of a gift shop, one catering to hippies. Trinkets were here and there, potted plants were sat casually throughout, no rhyme or reason that Harry could discern as to where they were placed. What appeared to be a potions area was set off next to the counter, but it was difficult to be certain with all the curtains and fabrics strewn about. Harry would have called the place terribly messy if it hadn’t been for the fact that everything was perfectly clean and more or less had a place for themselves; disorganized might have been a better word for it.

 

A woman bustled out from behind a shelf at the sound of the bell. She reminded Harry of a gypsy, like a carnival fortune-teller, with her fluttering skirts and golden bangles though she didn’t appear to be Romany. She was sweet-faced and matronly, giving off a similar air as Mrs. Weasley, though more relaxed.

 

“What can I do for you, me wee duck?” The woman asked, accommodating but no-nonsense. Her accent wasn’t polished like those in Diagon, so the alley must’ve been part of a lower-income shopping area.

 

Harry deliberated for a moment. “Would it alright if I look around, please? I’m not looking for anything in particular.”

 

The woman’s brows raised. “Coo, would you listen to that? Prettier words I’ve never heard!” She gestured vaguely in a sign of welcome and shifted the bundle she had in her arms to a hip. “You’re free to browse, not a bother. What’s a young toff doin’ in Whimsic Alley?”

 

Harry smiled absently, going over to peruse a section of bangles much like the ones on the woman’s wrists. Maybe it was time to shop for Hermione’s birthday present? “Just exploring, ma’am,” Harry told her, stroking a leather cuff. “I’ve already gotten the lay of Diagon so I was looking for something new.”

 

The woman snorted good-naturedly. “Well, you don’ get much more ‘new’ than Margaux’s.” She put the bundle on the counter and began to separate it. “You just tell me if you need any anythin’ then.”

 

Harry picked through the jewel for a moment longer before getting bored with it almost immediately. “Excuse me, ma’am,” Harry said, catching the shop attendant’s attention once more. “The man who was left just before I came in, how did he get his antlers?”

 

“Ah, you must be talkin’ ‘bout Davy, that batty blighter. He’s been takin’ the Madam’s in-between concoction since he figured what his animagus form would be if he ever completed the transformation. Told me he doesn’ see the use o’ bein’ a moose but he’s pretty taken with his antlers.”

 

Harry was intrigued. “Could I get antlers or horns or whatever?”

 

“No with the in-between concoction you won’t, unless your form’s something with horns itself.”

 

Harry’s shoulders fell a little. “Is there anything I could take instead that could?”

 

The shop attendant came out from behind the counter and waved Harry over to the potion section. “We’ve got a bit of a selection over here to choose from if you’re lookin’ to grown extra parts an’ the like.”

 

Harry was led over to racks of potions of various bottle types. The labels had things like ‘Fox, snout’ and ‘Kappa, skin’ written across the bodies of the containers.

 

“Wow,” Harry breathed, picking up a phial that said ‘antelope, horns.’ It was pale yellow with a red shimmer to it when the light hit it. “How long do these last?”

 

“That’s the thin’ ‘bout body modification,” the shop attendant said. “You drink any o’ these, they’re permanent.”

 

Harry straightened up sharply. “Permanent? You mean to say you can’t change it back later?”

 

“Timin’ agents cost a glossy Galleon,” she explained with a shrug. “The Madam made her potions so they wouldn’t cost more’n they could sell for while still gettin’ the job done.”

 

“So it’s like a muggle tattoo?” Harry wasn’t sure if the awesomeness of having horns was worth the fact that they couldn’t be removed.

 

“Don’ sound so wary!” she admonished. “It’s not like a glamour won’ hide ‘em. I suppose if you were really sick of ‘em you could get rid of ‘em the muggle way.”

 

“I thought it was permanent, how can it be permanent if I could get it removed?”

 

“That’s the genius o’ the Madam; as soon as the change happens, it’ll be like you were born that way. As far as anyone’ll be able to tell, no magic was used at all! Won’t even show up on a hospital diagnostic list.”

 

“And _no one_ will question the extra appendages?”

 

“Why would they?”

 

“Why _wouldn’t_ they? How often is a person born with wings or a tail?”

 

“You mus’ be a muggleborn — how odd! Never met one with such pretty manners before. Anyway, it’s not as unusual as you seem to think.”

 

Harry thought it over. Horns would be cool, but it was starting to seem like Harry had walked into the wizarding equivalent of a tattoo and piercing parlour. It wasn’t the same of course, but years of the Dursleys denouncing such things as trashy still made Harry hesita— ‘Eagle, wings’ sat directly in front of Harry’s eyes.

 

“Can you fly with those wings?” Harry couldn’t have been more eager if Snape had volunteered to retire from teaching.

 

“You’ll have to learn to use ‘em yourself but they’re capable of flight,” the shop attendant confirmed with a sly grin.

 

There wasn’t a word to properly describe how excited Harry was, practically vibrating with thrill.

 

If this was the life of someone else, say Percy Weasley, this would be the point where the potion in question would be purchased with no further fuss. If Percy was the one there, he would have left and returned to Diagon Alley without anything else coming up. Unfortunately, Percy was _not_ the one having a run of the Alleys.

 

As Harry was looking through the bottles of different wing types, a door from behind the counter flew open. A person came rushing out from the back, a pile of fabrics stacked higher than their head blocking their view. Just when Harry looked up, a vial that came just behind the one with ‘Vulture, wings’ written on it in hand, the running pile of clothes and curtains ran headlong into Harry, sending both flying to the floor.

 

Was it any wonder, knowing Harry’s luck that our little hero was drenched in a potion that turned him into a _her?_

 

The shop attendant had hovered frantically over the newly made girl, apologizing profusely to Harry while also scolding the person that had run into Harry with all the fury of an erupting volcano. Confusion and shock abounded.

 

The shop attendant had offered to give Harry a wing potion for free to make up for the accident.

 

“Please, sir—miss— _please,_ luv! Don’t take your pound o’ flesh out o’ the Madam’s shop! She’s a fine old woman what’s never made trouble for nobody!” the woman pleaded frantically, her accent thickening and grammar degenerating in her panic.“Take the potion you wanted — take two or three if you like! I can’t tell you how sorry I am!”

 

The person that ran into Harry — a boy a year or so younger than Harry — blubbered into his hands.

 

Naturally, Harry made to calm the anxious pair, assuring them that no revenge would afflict them. Harry wasn’t one for revenge, especially when no harm was meant.

 

“I’ll still take the potion,” Harry continued, selecting one for the wings of a humming bird, “but I’m not taking it without paying. You’re already out a potion after spilling that one all over; I’m not going to take away more of your profits, that’d be just mean.”

 

Harry left shortly after that, assuring the pair once again that there were no hard feelings. By this point, Harry had quite enough of wandering the shops and wanted nothing more than to return to the Cauldron. A late lunch and a shower later, Harry was as untroubled as before the exploration backfired. It took her longer in the shower than usual to figure out how her new body worked (the peeing was distinctly less hands-on), but she tucked herself into bed feeling confident that she could handle no longer having dangly bits.

 

Was it any wonder considering Harry’s habit of being tight-lipped that after concluding such a thing, she decided that there was no reason she shouldn’t keep it to herself?

 

In all honestly, Harry wasn’t _that_ bothered about it. Before when she had been a he, he hadn’t entered puberty yet, so it wasn’t like he had been attached to masculinity, nor had he reason to feel manly; he had been raised to take care of the household chores and do the cooking and mending, the traditionally female tasks. He hadn’t been attracted to girls yet either. Yes, it took a bit of getting used to, but really, she was still as Harry as she had been before. In fact, at the very least she wouldn’t have to worry about adjusting her bits anymore, seeing how everything was now internal; convenient, that.

 

* * *

 

**I** f there was one thing Harry Potter could do besides being more stubborn than suspicious bed-sheet stains, it was rise to the occasion. When no one was around to expect things from Harry, the child in question was actually thoughtful and self-aware. Harry could sit for hours just contemplating the ways of the world, thinking over things that had been done or read. It was a consequence of regularly being locked away in a cupboard with nothing to do but think. However, when there was a role to play, no one could say that Harry didn’t through everything into it.

 

At first, Harry didn’t realize that he was doing it. He had so little time to himself that he fell into the role of bold saviour automatically during his first year of Hogwarts. He had read about what they had expected of the Boy Who Lived and when looked to him, he gave them what they wanted. Oh, sure, he didn’t cater to their whims, but there was no denying Harry in his boy-hero mode.

 

It was after the mess with Riddle diary that Harry realized what he had been doing. Actually, it was in the middle of battle the basilisk that he became self-aware again. Even as he fought for his life and Ginny’s a part of him was separate from the immediate problem, wondering what the hell he had been thinking, him, a muggle-raised boy, rescuing damsels and fighting monsters. That wasn’t who Harry was! But that was who the Boy Who Lived was, and it wasn’t the time for Harry to reassert himself.

 

Harry was very familiar with self-reflection, he knew who he was in a way that was unusual for a child. He knew his faults, he knew his good points; even if he lied to others, Harry never lied to himself. He accepted that he had been running around without thought to the point where he almost got himself killed. He also accepted that such behaviour was what everyone was wanted of him even if they said that they didn’t like it.

 

It was a sticky position Harry found himself in. If he had been the type that desperately wanted to people to like him, he might have stuck with it. It was seeing a new goon being initiated into Dudley’s gang that held Harry back from making such a mistake.

 

He had come across the initiation completely by accident, looking out into the neighbour’s yard just as Dudley’s yes-men talked the newest yahoo into beating up on another kid. The boy had been hesitant but Dudley’s friends were insistent. By the time poor Mark Evans managed to get away, Dudley’s new thug was just as mean-spirited and ugly as the rest of them. That was the price of conforming to gain popularity, a loss of self.

 

It was with the images of Mark Evans being punched that Harry resolved that nothing was worth it. Hadn’t he already had popularity a good amount of the time for being the Boy Who Lived and the Gryffindor Seeker? And hadn’t everyone still turned on him at the drop of a hat? No, popularity wasn’t worth it; it wasn’t worth his life and it definitely wasn’t worth his soul. Harry would be Harry, and if they didn’t like it, he would like himself enough that they didn’t matter.

 

A calm had descended over Harry as he resolved to life by his integrity of character. He felt lighter and more at peace than entering the wizarding world had made him, when he realized there were people like himself.

 

It was in this enlightened state of mind that Harry also came to the conclusion that a change in gender didn’t make him a different person. Just like entering Hogwarts didn’t make him more magical, entering a different form of his species didn’t make him more or less of the person Harry was before. Biological functions did _not_ define a person. Boy, girl, hermaphrodite, or tree, Harry was still Harry; her soul was the same as always.

 

And because she was the same as always, it wasn’t anything that needed to be shared. Just as she hadn’t had to tell anyone that she had a prick back when she had a prick, she didn’t need to go shouting to the world that she would eventually grow breasts.

 

Besides all of that, Harry was now the proud owner of two very attractive green hummingbird wings. The growing of them had been a pain similar to having mouths on your back and biting down on aluminum foil with them while having someone pull your shoulders out of joint, but she thought it all well worth it. The potion had even restructured her bones in such a way that her waist was higher to create grooves for the wings to tuck into in such a way that they weren’t visible while they weren’t out. It was incredibly cool and Harry was reveling in unassisted flight, her feet rarely touching the ground when she was in her room.

 

All was well in the world of Harry Potter.

 

* * *

 

**I** t was avery zen Harry Potter that returned to Hogwarts. No one knew what had happened to put her in such a state but that was not to say that there weren’t theories. Of course, a good lot of those theories were unflattering, like maybe Harry had gotten into questionable substances, or she finally lost the last shred of intelligence in her scruffy head (these mostly came from Malfoy and his ilk), but whatever tossed at her, Harry remained unruffled. In a part of her mind, she was tickled by how bothered those that disliked her were by her lack of reaction, but the rest of her was too relaxed from how little she really cared about it all anymore.

 

“I am a cucumber,” she had told Ron when he asked why she wasn’t ready to beat Malfoy’s face in. And indeed she was, she was cool as cucumber and no one was getting in the way of that.

 

Ron had looked at her as if she was insane but that hadn’t bothered her either.

 

She breezed through her classwork now that no one’s opinion but hers mattered. Ron could moan but she would still finish her work in a timely manner. Snape could sneer and snark but Harry was too in-touch with her inner peace to anything but an excellent job; funny how not letting yourself be distracted by anger-inducing things could make you so much more effective in what you do. The teachers could praise or degrade her, she was too one with the void to be more than passingly interested in them.

 

When a Firebolt came in the mail and Hermione had snitched, getting the teachers to take it away for checking, Harry was irritated at the other girl’s tendency to tattle. Seriously? She didn’t take Ron and Harry’s opinion into consideration before running off to tell McGonagall! The irritation eventually melted away. Being angry was exhausting and Harry wasn’t going to waste energy being worked up over someone that thought being friends meant being someone’s keeper.

 

Harry eventually forgave Hermione when the irritation over the incident left her completely, as it was too much of a bother to hang onto the feeling. Admittedly, it took a while to leave as Hermione had swamped herself in pointless extra work and was an emotional basket-case that shouted and cried about damn near everything as consequence.

 

When Ron, Hermione, and she had been dragged into the Shrieking Shack by the man that was said to be trying to kill her, she would readily admit that she lost her cool, all but physically attacking him in her fury. She later made up for it by knocking Snape out when he tried to interrupt Sirius and Professor Lupin’s explanation, as well as coldly having Sirius break Pettigrew’s legs so he couldn’t escape again even if he somehow was freed from Lupin’s body-bind.

 

Harry’s precaution proved worthwhile when Lupin went werewolf on them. Ron and Hermione managed to drag the filthy rat to the professors while Harry ran off to save Sirius. Harry’s cool head saved them once again when she managed to produce a Patronus strong enough to drive away the Dementors that swooped in on the. Professor Lupin’s lessons proved their worth a hundred times over.

 

It was a self-satisfied Harry Potter that went back to Privet Drive, eagerly awaiting the trial Fudge couldn’t deny Sirius now that Pettigrew alive and well enough was tossed at his feet. Sirius had promised her that he would take up the position of her guardian as soon as he could make it.

 

“I won’t be staying,” Harry told the Dursleys. They had been terribly upset when they picked her up from the train station. “My Godfather’s arranging to take me in soon, so I’ll be living with him.”

 

“Godfather?” sputtered Uncle Vernon. “You haven’t got a godfather!”

 

“Yes, I have,” said Harry brightly. “He was my mum and dad’s best friend. You’ve heard about him on the new, you know? He’s a convicted murderer, but he broke out. He told me to keep in touch while everything’s being set up!”

 

Grinning wickedly at the look of horror on Uncle Vernon’s face, Harry set off toward the station exit, Hedwig’s cage rattling along in front of her, for what looked like a much better summer than the last.

 

She wondered what next year would be like.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**H** arry stayed with the Dursleys for a week and a half before Sirius came to get her. In that time, they walked on egg shells around her, the recent news report that Sirius had been found but was set free on a technicality didn’t help the situation. While Harry laughed, the Dursleys almost cried. ****

It was a new experience, being terrifying. Uncle Vernon paled to the colour of curdling yoghurt whenever she walked into the same room he was in. Aunt Petunia pointedly do _not_ make her do any chores, only ever talking to Harry to tell her when it was time to eat. (Wasn’t _that_ odd, eating at the table with them.) They went out of their way to make sure she was the least inconvenienced she could be. Only Dudley remained obnoxious as always, and he was pulled away the moment he started getting mouthy with her. It was as annoying as it was relieving.

 

By the middle of the second week, when nothing catastrophic had happened to them yet, they started to relax, ignoring Harry more than fearing for their lives. Truthfully, everyone was more happy this way. They would have remained blissfully unbothered by each other if it hadn’t been for Dudley.

 

Harry had taken to hanging out in the trees in the backyard when not in her room. She ached to stretch her wings, perhaps go for a fly with Hedwig, but the fact of the matter was that a girl whipping out a set of wings and flying off would be very conspicuous, even at night. Climbing to the highest point she could reach was a poor substitute, but it would have to be enough until she was in a more magic-friendly location.

 

She was dozing in her favourite tree when Dudley and a couple of his pals showed up. It was a weekday, so Uncle Vernon was at work, and Aunt Petunia had gone grocery shopping.

 

Dudley hadn’t understood why his parents were treating his odd cousin as if the weirdo would suddenly go rabid and attack them like Aunt Marge’s dog, Ripper, sometimes did. Sure, sometimes freaky crap had gone down before, and Aunt Marge being turned into a hot-air balloon had been terrifying, but Harry never physically did anything; the wimp was too chicken-shit for anything like that. In Dudley’s mind, without that stupid wand, Harry Potter was as useless as any other punk Dudley beat up.

 

No one had told Dudley about the escaped mass murderer that was looking in on Harry’s interests.

 

Scowling up at his weirdo cousin sleeping in a tree, Dudley couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather pick on. Scrunching his nose up, he hollered, “Oi, four-eyes! Wake up!”

 

Harry jolted at the sudden noise and almost fell from her perch. Dudley’s sidekicks, Piers Polkiss and a new thug, Malcolm Something-or-Other, sniggered meanly. Once she was more securely seated again, she peered down at the terrible trio.

 

“What do you want, Dudley?” Harry rasped, voice husky from her nap. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and cursed when her glasses fell from her face.

 

Piers snatched up the fallen spectacles and held it out tauntingly. “Is that anyway to talk to your betters?” he scorned.

 

Harry pointedly glanced around. “I don’t see the Queen anywhere. Or are you telling me the chap next to you is one of the princes in disguise?”

 

Dudley took Harry’s glasses from Piers and held them in both hands in a very telling way. “You watch your mouth or I’ll break these stupid specs!”

 

Harry narrowed her eyes at them, her face settling in contempt. “And then what? You’ll proceed to harass someone that’s almost literally half your size and near blind as well? With two of your mates backing you up? You’re really raising your standards, aren’t you?”

 

Dudley flush red in anger. He snapped Harry’s glasses in half and then threw them to the ground, stomping on them as well. He sneered up up at Harry, “Anything else you want to say, freak?”

 

Harry wriggled where she had laid until she was stretched out again, spread out luxuriously like an expensive house cat. She rested her chin on her entwined fingers and let a leg hang down, swaying in the wind like it was a tail. She yawned pointedly and let her eyes drop to half-mast.

 

“It’s been lovely talking with you, Dudders, really, but this conversation’s become too dull to continue.” Her eyes closed fully. “Why don’t you go steal candy from a baby or something?”

 

Such a comment went over as well as one might expect. Growling in fury, Dudley barked at his thugs to get Harry down from the tree. Piers and the Malcolm were built for chasing down those that tried to run away, so they climbed up the tree easily enough.

 

At hearing Dudley’s order, Harry sprung into action. Faster than the boys could manage, she was squirreling up the tree like she had been born in it. Hands scrabbled at her ankles but she was just too quick for them.

 

“There’s nowhere else to go, Potter,” Piers called up when Harry reached the smaller branches of the top of the tree. She was just small enough that they didn’t snap under her weight.

 

Accepting that she could go no higher without breaking the Statute of Secrecy, Harry looked down at the ground, judging the distance. She wasn’t quite at the height of the roof but it was a near thing, she was definitely past the height of her bedroom window. The two bloodhounds were only a few branches down and Dudley was almost directly below them. It was thirteen, maybe fourteen feet up.

 

Shooting a smirk at the boys chasing her, Harry pushed away from the tree and jumped. Wind whipped through her hair and ruffled the feathers just under her ribs.

 

“HARRY!” Three voices cried, horror dripping from every syllable. Bullies they might be, Dudley and his goons weren’t killers.

 

Calling out with delight, Harry landed on her feet, bending her knees to absorb the shock. She twirled around and swooped a dramatic bow at the gaping boys.

 

“Are you crazy?!” Malcolm exclaimed, scrabbling back down the tree. Piers was right behind him. “You could have died!”

 

Harry crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “And what did you think chasing me down from a tree might have done?”

 

Dudley charged up to her and took a swing. Harry skipped to the side and leaped back from his fist. He snarled, “Hold still so I can beat the hell out of you for being a complete idiot!”

 

Harry made a face but kept dodging. “I’m not going to accept being called an idiot from a guy that didn’t know how much thirty-four plus two is!”

 

Dudley bellowed in frustration, fists still swinging. “I was _five!_ ”

 

“You were _eleven!_ ”

 

“Pin the moron down!” Dudley hollered, calling his goons back into action.

 

Harry took one look at the advancing three and made a break for it. Seeing Dudley’s bedroom window open, she heaved herself onto the lattice Aunt Petunia put under the window to grow vine vegetables and scaled her way up, cackling when she pulled herself through the window.

 

Crowing in victory, Harry leaned back out the window and pulled faces at the boys.

 

“Get out of my room, freak!” Dudley shouted, his face purple like his father’s did when he was on the verge of bursting a vessel.

 

“No need to tell me twice, Duddykins! If you need me, feel free to bang on my door uselessly.” Harry blew a raspberry at them and pranced out of Dudley’s room.

 

* * *

 

 **S** irius’ arrival on Privet Drive was a vision of dramatics fit for the big screen. What might have been mistake for the distant rumble of thunder was actually a procession straight out of Hell (at least, what Hell was pictured like by the suburban zombies). In a flurry of leather and chains, a biker gang’s worth of motorcycles roared in from the highway, punctuating the growl of their engines with animalistic howls and whoops. The riders were burly beasts tattooed up to their eyeballs, every single one of them a nightmare for those afraid to drop the soap.

 

Like a murder of vindictive crows, they wove in between the mid-range cars, swooping in and out of lanes. They were even bold enough to swerve off the road and onto the pavement. They screeched up to surround Number 4, some even tearing up into the lawn, leaving tire tracks and ripped up grass all over the previously neat front-yard.

 

Engines still humming, they staked out the modest middle-class home with hungry intensity liken to hyena’s scavenging an abandoned carcass. While some stayed mounted, others lumbered off their machines and prowled the area, eying the gaping neighbours intently.

 

Leading the pack of predators was Sirius himself, wild-eyed and swaggering violently enough to make a pirate proud. He was decked out enough leather to make a cow faint, artful tears in his clothing making it appear as if he had just slashed his way out of a knife fight, suspicious stains lending credence to the image. His steps were accented with the clanking of the chains hung around his neck and dangling from his trousers. His face was twisted into an expression of unholy glee, the smoke pouring out of his mouth via the cigarette clenched between his teeth adding a filthy touch. All in all, he was the boogieman from every conservative parent’s most gruesome fantasy.

 

In the wake of the early evening return of the husbands and fathers from work that _every_ house on Privet Drive was experiencing — meaning that everyone that lived on that street was there to witness the spectacle — Sirius Black was like an albino pygmy elephant wearing cowboy hat twerking on top of a coffin at a funeral, completely out of place and impossible to ignore. Anyone outside immediately retreated behind some sort of cover, be it car or tree. Housewives pulled their children into them if they were in arms reach and peered fearfully through closed shutters at the spectacle happening.

 

“Isn’t . . . Isn’t that _Sirius Black?_ ” was whispered from one witness to another almost simultaneously in every viewing house.

 

The silence the followed the unorthodox entrance was enough to make one’s ears ring. Not even the birds were chirping.

 

“DURSLEYS!” Sirius bellowed, standing hands on hips from halfway up the walk-way. He flicked his cigarette to the ground and smashed it underfoot, eying their plain set-up with disgust.

 

A shriek of muffled terror escaped Number 4, Petunia Dursley homes as she always was at this time of day.

 

“WHERE’S. MY. GODSON?!” The demand echoed like the word of God unto His chosen people.

 

Another shriek sounded, followed by the sounds of doors slamming and something pounding against wood. The front door was flung open with force and little Harry Potter came racing out of Number 4. In contrast with how the neighbourhood usually viewed the child as a dangerous hooligan, Harry looked far too sweet and wholesome when being compared to the delinquency sprawled on the front-yard; overworked minds would later say Harry was glowing with goodness.

 

“Sirius!” She all but squealed in delight. Like a kitten pouncing on a dog big enough to eat it whole, Harry threw herself into her godfather’s arms, laughing merrily when the man twirled her around. “You’re here!”

 

Sirius placed her back on the ground and ruffled her hair enthusiastically. “I told you I was on my way, didn’t I?”

 

“Leave at once!” Vernon Dursley hollered from the front door. The whole of the Dursley family had spilled out onto the lawn, Petunia to get a better grasp of how the neighbours were taking it (And weeping inside when she saw them looking on like the circus was in town), and Dudley because he hadn’t the slightest clue was was happening. Vernon had gotten home not twenty minutes before the hurricane of hooligans arrived on his property. “We don’t accept criminals here!”

 

“I believe you’ll find that none among us have a record of any law-breaking,” a mild voice cut in. The cultured accent was jarring.

 

Not believing her ears, Harry turned to see _Remus Lupin_ decked out like a gang-member and straddling a Harley-Davidson badass enough to melt someone’s face off. She couldn’t help but let her mouth fall open in shock.

 

“ _Professor Lupin?_ ” Harry gasped, disbelief in every syllable.

 

Her disbelief was shared, though for reasons besides her own.

 

 _Professor_ Lupin? The questioned echoed through many a mind. That brute was a teacher? A man with obvious criminal connections had been in close contact with children? What kind of institute would allow such a thing?

 

“Hello, Harry,” the ex-professor smiled. “Might as well just call me Remus now; I’m not doing much professor work these days.”

 

“Right,” she breathed, still stunned. She pulled herself out of it and surveyed the remaining members of Sirius’ gang. “And who are all of these people?”

 

Sirius waved a dismissive hand. “Buddies of mine that wanted to meet you. We can do introductions later, after we get out of this hell-hole.”

 

Seeing the avid looks on the faces of those ‘buddies,’ Harry agreed. She had seen that look many times before in the eyes of Boy Who Lived worshipers.

 

Not letting her relatives pull themselves out of the froth they worked themselves into at hearing their home being called a hell-hole, Harry ran up to her room and hauled all her belongings out. Her trunk and birdcage was strapped to the back of Remus’ bike (Hedwig had already been sent out to find Harry later) while Sirius outfitted her in a leather jacket and helmet.

 

In burst of gunned engines and barked orders, they tore out of the mundane neighbourhood before the 5 o’ clock rush-hour ended.

 

* * *

 

 **L** iving with Sirius was like staying with a formerly absentee father that had no idea you had existed before but was eager to make up for the lost time. It was awkward at times but she could feel that he really was trying his best. That was all she could ask of him, especially since he was still very young at heart. Sirius wasn’t one for laying down the law, that was evident in the way he had told Harry that besides making sure she didn’t kill herself she was free to do whatever she wanted.

 

“Provided that you tell me when you’re off to visit your friends’ place,” Sirius had added.

 

He didn’t even assign her any chores, the house elf that tended to the new house Sirius had bought for them didn’t allow Harry to do anything beyond picking up her own room. The house was cleaned, the lawn was manicured, the meals were prepared, everything was kept in a working manner, and all without any work on Harry’s part. It took some time to get adjusted

 

That was not to say that she was idle without her usual tasks. Sirius was all for going out and doing things, likely a result of being in prison for so long. They hopped around both muggle and magical Britain, seeing shows at theatres and cinemas, eating out at nice restaurants, watching Quidditch games, visiting museums, the works. Harry could honestly say that she saw more of the world in those few months than she had her entire life before.

 

All along the way they dragged Remus with them, sweet-talking him into staying at their house with them when they could ease around his pride. Remus lived in muggle London, working modest jobs that were willing to let him have three days off in a row during the time of the full moon. He cited religious reasons for why he needed that specific time, but even with muggles as a whole not believing in magical creatures anymore, muggles still looked at you funny if you mentioned needing time off during the full moon. Thinking about it, saying he was part of a religion that had rites during the full moon likely made Remus’ potential employers think he was in a cult.

 

Luckily, Sirius managed to convince Remus to work as their sort of financial manager/house-keeper. Sirius was pants at money management beyond keeping up with the bills and they needed someone that Oona, their house elf, could go to when she needed authorization to buy supplies. Not to mention dealing with the goblins since Sirius couldn’t stand them in the least bit. A bit of wheedling and Harry blinking teary eyes up at him and Remus was firmly planted in their little family unit.

 

During a Renaissance Fair (it was the only place wizards could mingle with Muggles without being looked at strangely for their everyday clothes), while they were watching a jousting tournament, Harry had asked about the buddies that had showed up to escort her from her relatives’ house. It turned out that no more than a couple of them were actually well acquainted with Sirius; the majority of them were pub-crawlers that her godfather had round up at a bar that had been his favourite years ago and rallied them into scaring the bejeebus out of a family of rotten muggles. Once they were assured that they wouldn’t be breaking any laws or doing more than just looking intimidating, they were all on board. It helped that they would be seeing _the_ Harry Potter in person.

 

That was another thing that took some getting used to. Harry knew she was famous, but she hadn’t realized exactly _how_ famous she was. The other students at school got used to Harry’s presence rather quickly, still watching her with their own personal ideals, but in the manner of keeping an eye on a well known politician’s child; for the most part, they were mannerly about it. Outside of Hogwarts, it was another story.

 

With the people Harry met while out and about, they looked upon her with awe more suited for someone like the Pope. _Reverent_ was what they were. They behaved as if Harry was somehow Jesus crossed with the Beatles returning to them in the musical version of the second coming. She shook more hands, signed more autographs, and _blessed more babies_ than she ever thought she’d have to in a lifetime. Granted, she expected to do none of any of that.

 

Sirius and Remus thought it was hilarious but they certainly bundled her off and snapped and snarled at the people when marriage requests were shouted at her. After that, Harry was not allowed to go out without one or the other of them with her. The most she was allowed do by herself was Floo directly to the Weasleys, whom she hadn’t visited yet since she was determined to spend as much time with her godfather as she could.

 

Getting to know Sirius was a joy she hadn’t expected. On top of the fun guy he was by himself, he also brought stories of her parents and a deeper connection to the wizarding world. Her father’s family had a rich history, much of it recorded in the Potter Grimoire that they had retrieved from the Family vault when Sirius was trying to tell the story about spell the Potter family had invented and he couldn’t remember the exact details. The two of them could sit for hours just talking.

 

There were times when Sirius would just sit with tears in his eyes. He would be talking about some bit of fun the Marauders got up to and he’d just stop mid-sentence and choke up. These were the times Harry felt as if they were truly growing into a proper family. Tucked up on the sofa with Sirius’ arms wrapped around her shoulders while her arms were wrapped around his middle, Harry couldn’t be more thankful for them finding each other again.

 

“Sometimes I’d give anything to have them back,” Sirius whispered, his voice wobbly. She was curled up on his lap after waking from a nightmare. “Then I remember that you’re here with me and I thank whatever god out there that you weren’t taken as well. I loved James and Lily, but I don’t think I could live in a world where you don’t exist.”

 

* * *

 

 **T** he day of the Quidditch World Cup was fast approaching. Harry had been exchanging letters with Ron about the event for several days now. It turned out that Mr. Weasley had come across a bit of good luck when it came to purchasing tickets for the Cup and a gentleman named Ludo Bagman had given him several free tickets for Top Box seats where the announcers and the Minister would be sitting. Ron was chomping at the bit with excitement, and when Sirius heard about the Weasleys’ good fortune, he pitched in three more tickets so Remus and they could sit with Harry’s friends as well.

 

They were going to arrive by portkey as a group, they even had camping spots right next to each other. For days they spoke of almost nothing else, even dragging Hermione into the chatter when it was confirmed that the bookworm was coming along as well.

 

“Ready to go?” Remus asked the day before the event.

 

They were going to spend the night at the Weasleys so they could get up early to catch the portkey in time. Hermione was said to already be there so it was going to be a regular slumber party.

 

Harry pulled on her over-night backpack and nodded in confirmation.

 

“Alright then. Off you go.”

 

With a called out word and a flash of flames, she was gone.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 **S** ince she had been turned into a girl, Harry hadn’t really thought about how the change would affect her on a chemical level. Oh, sure, she had gone out into Muggle London during her time before third year to buy a book on the human body to get acquainted with what she now had going on in her guts, but she hadn’t actually thought about puberty outside of the abstract. Her hips would get wider (to make room for potential babies), she’d grow lumps of fat on her chest that would be painful to sleep on, and she’d start bleeding out of her crotch. (That last bit freaked her out when she read that the blood was unfertilised eggs expelling from her body. She was going to leak dead babies!) All of that had been researched and accepted. Yeah, it wasn’t the changes she had been taught to expect from primary school health class but it wasn’t like guy adolescence was less weird than the girl type.

 

After figuring out that she’d need supplies for her eventual girl problems, Harry had returned to that shop in Whimsic Alley and gotten the shop attendant from before to help her collect girl stuff. The woman had been happy to help and had taken Harry to an apothecary that specialized in feminine potions, as well as an underwear store for bras and such. (Harry had been very take with a type of undershirt that tucked away breasts in Wizard-Space. Perfect for Quidditch; she wouldn’t have to worry about wind resistance at all!) She had returned to her room at The Leaky Cauldron with a bag filled with everything she’d need when she started developing.

 

Harry had been ready for changes of the body. Changes of the _mind_ hadn’t occurred to her.

 

Since she had become spiritually one with infinity, people stopped being a bother to her, they had become less important. Not to say that she no longer cared for mankind, but outside opinions mattered nearly not at all. She felt freer than a bird and Ron and Hermione often had to draw her attention back to earth, much to their exasperation. She was so much lighter in spirit and was more content with her life. She hadn’t expected such a run-of-the-mill matter like adolescence to start messing with that.

 

At first, it was little things. She messed about with her hair more. Sometimes she’d catch herself staring at herself in the mirror. There was once that she wondered how her figure would look in a dress. Unsettling, yes, but they weren’t anything major.

 

When random fans of both genders had shouted marriage proposals at her in the middle of Diagon Alley, she had been not only embarrassed and awkward, but flattered and — dare she say it — just the _teensiest_ smug. There had definitely been some feminine pride at having so many potential suitors before Sirius’ and Remus’ snarling and dragging her off snapped her out of it. And then there had been more smugness at having a pair of guys stand guard over her. She had a bit of a break down about it later in the privacy of her room but there was no lying to herself.

 

Eventually, she came to notice the aesthetic appeal of other people. She found herself admiring how other girls were put together, the balance of their proportions and how they dressed. Her eyes couldn’t help but wander over boys and assess their features; she appreciated their forms and the symmetry of their faces. She had never noticed how beautiful other people could be before. It made her want to draw them or maybe dress them up.

 

Still, while all those things were matters she had never thought on before, it was very easy for Harry to examine the thoughts in detail before dismissing them altogether. The entirety of her revelations and adolescent awakenings remained within the privacy of her mind. She couldn’t say for certain, but she was pretty sure neither Sirius nor Remus knew of her mental musings. She didn’t think they needed to know so she hadn’t said anything about them. They just didn’t matter enough in the long run.

 

So when she arrived at the Burrow that day and set eyes on Charlie Weasley, it was safe to say Harry hadn’t expected to be so overcome.

 

* * *

 

 **H** arry came rocketing out of the fireplace as if she had been thrown. She slammed bodily into one of the twins and sent them both tumbling to the floor. They landed in a groaning heap, the redhead with his face smooshed against a chair leg and Harry with her head lodged under the boy’s armpit.

 

The kitchen exploded with laughter. As the two tried to untangle themselves, two more _whooshes_ sounded, signifying the entrance of Sirius and Remus.

 

“Goodness, Harry,” Remus said, helping her to her feet. She got a better look at who she had landed on; ah, it was Fred. “You told us you were terrible with Flooing but I didn’t realize it would be this bad.”

 

Harry shrugged helplessly and straightened her clothes. She looked around and saw that Ron and George had gotten up from where they had been sitting to pull Fred to his feet. Sitting at the scrubbed wooden table where they had sat were two red-haired people Harry had never seen before, though she knew immediately who they must be: Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley brothers.

 

“How’re you doing, Harry?” said the nearer of the two. “I’m Bill.”

 

Bill came as something of a surprise. Harry knew that he worked for the wizarding bank, Gringotts, and that Bill had been Head Boy at Hogwarts; Harry had always imagined Bill to be an older version of Percy: fussy about rule-breaking and fond of bossing everyone around. However, Bill was — there was no other word for it — cool. He was tall, with long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing an earring with what looked like a fang dangling from it. Bill’s clothes would not have looked out of place at a rock concert, except that Harry recognized his boots to be made not of leather but of dragon hide.

 

Charlie got to his feet and held out a large hand, which Harry shook, feeling calluses and blisters under her fingers. This was the thrill-seeker of the family, the one who worked with dragons in Romania. Charlie was built like the twins, shorter and stockier than Percy and Ron, who were both long and lanky. He was still heads and shoulders taller than Harry either way. He had a broad, good-natured face, which was weather-beaten and so freckly that he looked almost tanned; his arms were muscular, and one of them had a large, shiny burn on it.

 

He grinned at her and said, “Nice to see you in proper lighting this time ‘round. Thanks again for that Norwegian Ridgeback.”

 

Harry’s breath caught in her throat. The reply she meant to give didn’t leave her trembling lips and a small whimper took its place.

 

“Mate?” said Ron. He tilted is head in curiosity.

 

The Weasley boys watched as Harry whipped around at the sound. Then the most curious thing happened.

 

Inexplicably, Harry flushed, a pink that washed over soft cheeks in a way they wouldn’t have expected to look so appealing. Already distracting green eyes enlarged and glazed over in a way that put them in the mind of startled fawn. Most inconceivably of all, hands flew up to clutch at the collar of the too-big white hoodie and hips shifted ever so slightly in a way that changed Harry’s posture completely. Before they could question what happened, Harry Potter turned from the young boy-hero best-mate of the youngest Weasley son into a flustered teenaged girl struck by her first crush.

 

No, no! This was Harry! Ron rubbed his eyes vigorously and looked again. The sight was the same; Harry stood almost swooning like the damsels from bedtime stories. But-but-but . . . what? No! Harry wasn’t supposed to show up after a summer of zero contact looking as cute as any girl! What the hell was going on?! Had they hired a body double?

 

Harry suddenly hid her face in her hands. She peeked up once but flushed brightly again and ducked back down.

 

“Ron,” Harry said, her voice muffled by her palms, the tone small and wobbly. “M-maybe we should go to your room now.”

 

“Not looking like that you won’t!” said Sirius, flashing out an arm and pulling Harry back to him. He wrapped his arms around his godchild and glared suspiciously around the kitchen at the redheaded boys. “You’re not leaving my sight with anyone besides Remus until you stop looking so cute!”

 

“ _Sirius!_ ” Harry cried, embarrassed. “Remus, make him stop!”

 

Remus was just as bewildered as anyone else but still complied. He sighed and did his best to wrench Harry out of Sirius’ iron grasps despite the other man’s protests. “Really, Sirius, do you have to make a scene?”

 

“He just suggested going up to a boy’s room while looking like a virgin offering up their chastity as a sacrifice!” cried Sirius. Blushes abounded at his words. “No! He’s too young! I won’t allow it!”

 

Harry was on the verge of fainting with mortification. “ _Sirius!_ ” She flailed and accidentally nailed him in his bits. Sirius released his grip with a choked yelp and only barely managed to keep his feet.

 

Harry stumbled but regained her feet quickly before hovering in concern of the man she had just kneed.

 

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” Goodness! She hadn’t been this flustered or worked up since before third year! Where had her usual cool gone? As Harry hovered frantically, the Weasley boys roared in laughter.

 

“Goodness, what’s all this commotion about?”

 

Mrs. Weasley had entered the kitchen. She was a short, plump woman with a very kind face, though her brows were currently raised in question.

 

“Oh, hello, dears,” Mrs. Weasley said as she spotted the three guests. She bustled over at the sight of Sirius huddled in pain. “Dear me! Sirius, whatever is the matter? And why are you lot laughing?” The last part was directed at her sons, tone sharp.

 

Two girls appeared in the kitchen doorway behind Mrs. Weasley. One, with very bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth, was Harry’s and Ron’s friend, Hermione. The other, who was small and red-haired, was Ron’s younger sister, Ginny. Both of them smiled at Harry, who grinned back in relief of the distraction. Ginny went scarlet — she had been very taken with Harry ever since Harry’s first visit to the Burrow.

 

“Not to worry, Molly,” Sirius rasped, straightening. “Just a bump in an unpleasant place; no need to fuss.”

 

Harry shuffled in place. She placed her hands on Sirius’ forearm and said earnestly, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to kick you!”

 

More guffaws from the peanut gallery.

 

Remus ruffled Harry’s hair fondly as Sirius tried to brush the kneeing off. “I don’t think anyone here will hold it against you, Harry.”

 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” said Sirius, affecting a hurt tone.

 

“I mean that I’ve often wanted to give you a swift kick to where it hurts.”

 

“None of that!” said Mrs. Weasley, waving a reprimanding finger. “There are children present!”

 

Said children were soon bustled out of the kitchen when Hermione suggested helping Harry settle in.

 

“Leave the door open!” Sirius called after them, causing another flush to appear on Harry’s face.

 

* * *

 

 **H** arry couldn’t look in Charlie’s direction well into the next day. Even when they been awakened early to make it to the portkey in time, Harry was careful to not look at the him. Not that she made it obvious, of course, she just kept her attention on things that just happened to be completely unassociated with anything that might have anything to do with Charlie Weasley.

 

Harry’s self-assigned task proved to be rather simple considering the scene Mrs. Weasley and the twins put on when they were about to leave. Something about the prank sweets Fred and George spent six months developing and how Mrs. Weasley was unhappy they spent all that time on jokes instead of their O.W.L.s. It was a bit of a spectacle and kept Harry’s attention on the twins instead of Charlie.

 

The trek to the abandoned boot up on a hill was not something Harry would have called thrilling even though it did come with the fantastic scenery of the countryside.

 

“Say, S-S-Sirius,” Harry yawned as they walked across a small creek. “Since Bill, Charlie, and Percy are Apparating there, we aren’t we doing the same?”

 

Sirius looked up from where he had been staring off into the distance dreamily. “Why would you want to do that?”

 

A flat look was given in response. “So we could have had a bit of a lie-in? I’m fourteen, Sirius; teenagers need their sleep.”

 

“Ah~ But isn’t it more fun this way? Early morning fresh air, sunshine, and all these lovely trees!”

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Harry sighed, rubbing the side of her nose. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Sunshine and trees? The moon is still out and you can barely see the trees at all. With six people capable of Apparition and four passengers, there would’ve been no need to take a portkey at all. We would have saved ourselves the walk over.”

 

“Eh? But the walk is half the fun!”

 

There was no reasoning with Sirius when he got it in his head that something would be ‘fun.’ Wonderful. Peachy. Harry loved to start _every_ day with an hour long marathon over rivers and through the woods.

 

Truth be told, it wasn’t the fact that it was a long walk that bothered her, but Harry was still terribly sleepy still and her wings ached to be let loose. She wanted to curl and up go back to sleep or fly to the World Cup, neither of which she could do. Let’s not forget about the steepness of the hill they had to climb up either; Harry lost count of the hidden rabbit holes she stumbled in and the clumps of grass slicked with dew that she slipped on.

 

“Whew,” panted Mr. Weasley as they reached the top of Stoatshead Hill. He took off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. “Well, we’ve made good time — we’ve still got ten minutes . . .”

 

“Plenty of time to answer the call of nature then!” said Sirius cheerfully, trotting off to a wooded area.

 

Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side. Harry hoisted Hermione over to where the rest of them were standing and gave the other girl a sympathetic pat on the shoulder when she leaned heavily against Harry’s side.

 

“Still alive?” said Harry.

 

“I’m not quite sure,” was Hermione’s gasping response.

 

When the portkey was pointed out, there wasn’t a more welcomed sight in the world.

 

Cedric Diggory and his father, Amos, had arrived at the portkey site before them. Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy in Fred and George’s year. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts. Everybody exchanged pleasant greetings except Fred and George, who merely nodded because they hadn’t yet quite forgiven Cedric for beating Gryffindor in the first Quidditch match of the previous year when the Dementors filled the Pitch.

 

“Long walk, Arthur?” Cedric’s father asked. He was a ruddy-faced wizard with a scraggly brown beard. Cedric must have gotten his looks from his mother.

 

“Not too bad,” said Mr. Weasley. “We live just on the other side of the village there. You?”

 

“Had to get up at two, didn’t we, Ced? I tell you, I’ll be glad when he’s got his Apparition test. Still . . . not complaining . . . Quidditch World Cup, wouldn’t miss it for a sackful of Galleons — and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy.” Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. “All these yours, Arthur?”

 

“Oh no, only the redheads,” said Mr. Weasley, pointing out his children. “This is Hermione, friend of Ron’s — and Harry, another friend —”

 

“Merlin’s beard,” said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. “Harry? _Harry Potter?_ ”

 

“Erm — yes, sir,” said Harry.

 

Harry was used to people looking curiously at her when they met her, used to the way their eyes moved at once to the lightning scar on her forehead, but it always made her feel uncomfortable. It was one thing that they were excited to see her, it was quite another that they stared at her as if she were some new species of octopus.

 

“Ced’s talked about you, of course,” said Amos Diggory. “Told us all about playing against you last year . . . I said to him, I said — Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will . . . You beat Harry Potter!”

 

Harry couldn’t think of any reply to this that wouldn’t be condescending or pandering, so she remained silent, a vague smile on her face as she canted her head to the side. Fred and George were both scowling again. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed.

 

“Harry fell off his broom, Dad,” he muttered. “I told you . . . it was an accident . . .”

 

“Yes, but _you_ didn’t fall off, did you?” roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. “Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman . . . but the best man won; I’m sure Harry’d say the same, wouldn’t you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don’t need to be a genius to tell which one’s the better flier!”

 

“What’s this about flying?” said Sirius as he re-emerged from the trees. He sauntered up and ruffled Harry’s hair affectionately.

 

“Merciful Merlin!” exclaimed Mr. Diggory. “Sirius Black, is that you?”

 

“Good to see you again, Amos,” Sirius replied genially. “Haven’t see you since that stint with those hippogriff smugglers back when I was an Auror trainee. Have you met Remus yet?” He pulled Remus from where he had been milling in the background and all but tossed the werewolf at Mr. Diggory.

 

“Yes, it’s been quite some time hasn’t it?” replied Mr. Diggory vaguely as he made to shake hands with Remus. “Pleasure to meet you, my good man. Name’s Amos Diggory.”

 

Remus received the handshake gracefully. “Remus Lupin. The pleasure is mine, sir.”

 

Mr. Diggory’s eyebrows rose. “Lupin is it? Are you that werewolf Defense professor from last year?”

 

“Nearly time,” said Mr. Weasley loudly, pulling out his watch again.

 

The crowd of them huddled up around the portkey posing as an old boot. Harry ending up standing next to Cedric. She was all but pushed up against him with how they were all squeezed together but Sirius soon pulled her into himself and gave the older boy a suspicious look.

 

Harry didn’t have time to protest Sirius’ over-protectiveness before they were yanked away in a howl of wind and swirling colours.

 

 


End file.
